


Noldolantë

by eldritcher



Series: Red Falls The Dew On These Silver Leaves [8]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 06:11:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4008847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eldritcher/pseuds/eldritcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Noldolantë was not my lament for the fall of the Noldor. It was my heart's threne for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Noldolantë

“Where is he?” I asked Artanis as we walked together on the shore.

“I have asked Oropher to keep him occupied somehow until I get back,” she confided. “In any case, his recent infatuation with Galdor will ensure that our meeting does not come to his notice. He is obsessed.”

I sighed and turned to face her. She did not meet my gaze, instead appearing very interested in the cormorants squawking on the deserted canoes pegged on the sands. There was the smell of rain on the western wind. I looked up and glared at the dark clouds. Stealing moments with Artanis was immensely difficult what with her husband’s propensity to assault any she called kin. 

“Let it be,” she said finally. “This is not the first nor shall it be the last. He is made to stray.”

He did not deserve her. But I could not say that, not now, not when I had used her despite the fact that she believed it was her stubbornness that had eventuated our relationship of former days. 

“Findaráto would have killed the fool if he had known.”

“I am perfectly capable of killing fools,” she remarked. It was not an empty boast. She was not any woman. 

“But,” she continued wryly, “I happen to adore this fool of mine. Let him be. He will return as he always does.”

“How is your child?” I changed the subject. “Russandol said that he saw a glimpse of her when your husband took her riding. He says that she resembles Celeborn.”

“Yes.” Her features lightened and she met my gaze happily. “Oh, Macalaurë, you should see her! I am not any good with children. I never have been, except in the case of Telpë, and that was because Telpë has never been one to judge. But Bría is the opposite. She judges everything she sees. She worships her father, you know. Celeborn does not allow the soldiers in her vicinity. He insists on being her caretaker and mentor. Of course, all Sindarin parents are dotards.” Her eyes flashed in reminiscence and I knew she was thinking of Arafinwë. I gripped her wrist and she shot a grateful smile at me. “Oropher dotes on her. Ereinion is in awe of her. She is turning out to be a beautiful woman. Her father’s daughter, through and through, I am happy to report!”

“I wish I could meet her,” I muttered. “But your husband would hang me by my toenails if I dare come there.”

“Yes,” she admitted mournfully. “His prejudice has not been helped by your activities in Doriath, Macalaurë. If not for Oropher mediating between us, our arguments would have got out of hand. He does not know yet that you are here in Balar as guests of Círdan. He probably assumes that I am spending my time with Ereinion.”

“I hate Ereinion,” I remarked conversationally.

“So do I.” She kissed my jaw. “It is indeed amusing to see that our tastes still remain the same. But I make a decent pretence of liking Ereinion, and Macalaurë, he falls prey easily to displays of flattery and love.”

“Carnilótë says that he feels orphaned.” 

“Your wife has sound judgement.” She shrugged. “Your daughter is a proof of that. Círdan adores her. You know how rare it is for Círdan to take a liking to a person.”

“Círdan likes Russandol well enough,” I grumbled. 

It was a long standing grievance of mine. Of late, the tension between us had resulted in Russandol seeking out Círdan’s company more than I liked.

“I am afraid liking Russandol is a highly contagious character flaw. All of us have fallen prey to it at one time or another.”

“Right now, my sympathies are decidedly against him. He has been avoiding me ever since Doriath. He did not even accompany me when I went to see Telpë after that.”

“Telpë is holding up well,” Artanis said reassuringly. “I shall be there for him, I swear.”

“The lad is alone, though.”

“Not alone.” Artanis looked around and ascertained our privacy before leaning up and whispering into my ear, “A dalliance of sorts.”

“With whom?” I enquired in astonishment. “Not Ereinion, pray tell me!”

Artanis grimaced at the suggestion before continuing, “With a woman of the Sindar. I heard it from my chambermaids. Telpë has refused to tell me anything about it. I thought not to press him.”

“Perhaps you are right. We shall let him come to us with it when he wishes,” I conceded. “But I would rather that it was one of our women.”

“Have you slept with a Sindarin woman?” she asked mischievously. “They have their many charms.”

“The very idea!” I laughed. “My dearest cousin, you know that I have been the very model of abstinence of late.”

“It is evident,” she teased. “Your frustrations have increased. Perhaps you and I could make for that cove yonder and restore our good humour. My husband has not been solicitous to me of late.”

“While Carnilótë and I have always had a mutual understanding in these matters,” I kissed her chastely on the lips, “I am sorry to tell you that I have no intention of being the scapegoat when Celeborn comes hunting for his wife’s paramour.”

“Nor do I have the least intention of betraying him in that manner. Adultery was never my style, I regret to say.” She winked and looped her arm through mine. “But it is always a pleasure to flirt with you.”

“What bothers you?” I asked quietly. She did not engage in these frivolous conversations unless she was seriously worried about something that she did not know how to allude to.

“Telpë.”

“Tell me.” 

A few Sindarin fishermen were drawing their boats in before the rains set in. They were casting curious looks at us. She was a striking woman and they must have recognised her, for they were whispering amongst themselves. 

“To the cove,” she said briskly. “If they carry tales to Celeborn, he would start an argument I have no intention of indulging in.”

We made for the cove and she pulled me down to the ground with her into a sitting position. Stretching her legs into the slow lapping water, she sighed and rested her head on my shoulder. I kissed her brow and dragged her closer. 

“Telpë’s dalliance with the woman.” She threw me a nervous glance. It worried me deeply. She was rarely nervous. She continued, “Oropher tells me that it is a woman of high lineage. Recent rumours in the Sindarin circles speak of pregnancy. If Oropher felt it necessary to inform me, then it must be the truth. ”

“I shall speak with Telpë,” I assured her. “Perhaps he did not want to add to our worries. He declined to stay with us when we asked. He remains with Ereinion. They have developed a rapport of sorts.”

“How fares things with Russandol?”

“Impasse,” I said succinctly, trying not to think of the polite words and trivial conversations that were the bane of my life right then. 

“Perhaps you should burn all the tent pegs in vicinity,” she suggested teasingly. I pinched her cheek and she laughed. 

“He has been keeping to himself.” I shrugged. “Conversations are minimal. My attempts at bridging the breach have been rebuffed with his infernal diplomatic words. Telpë tried to bring us to an understanding. It was in vain.” 

Artanis made a noncommittal noise and I took that as permission to continue unburdening myself. It was a relief to voice my frustrations into words. 

“His health continues to decline.”

“Yes.” Artanis stirred uneasily and stared at the waves. It began to rain.“Ever since Doriath, there has been a gradual decline. I asked him. He waved me off with vague answers.”

“I cannot understand.” I ran my fingers through my hair angrily. “There has been no taxing endeavours of late. Yet he continues to grow gaunter and is easily tiring.”

“Well, you had best reach a truce.” Artanis lifted her head from my shoulder and glared at me. “He speaks if you pressure him.”

“I wish I did not have to.”

“Add that to the list of wishes that you and I shall never see come true.”

“You are as optimistic as ever,” I said dryly. 

“And you are as stubborn as ever.”

We made our way back to Círdan’s castle in the rain. When we reached the courtyard, we were drenched to the skin and our hair was plastered to our clothes. She laughed as a few soldiers cast us bewildered gazes. 

“They are going to suspect the worst,” I remarked.

“I will tell my husband that my companion was Círdan.” She shrugged confidently with the ease of one who lied often enough.

“There you are!”

Carnilótë came rushing down the steps and glared at us. Artanis looked at me quizzically. It was unlike my wife to take offence at my meetings with my cousin. 

“Lord Nelyafinwë left in search of you, Macalaurë.”

Artanis cursed. Carnilótë blushed at the crude word but hastily regained composure of herself. She had adapted splendidly to our family and I wondered at that ever so often. 

“I am leaving,” Artanis muttered. “My husband will miss me.” 

“Let Lord Círdan arrange a carriage for you,” Carnilótë told her.

Artanis shrugged in dismissal and squeezed my hand reassuringly before running back to the road. As we watched her sodden figure recede in the rain, Carnilótë cleared her throat and began speaking uneasily.

“He was not surprised.”

“How did he know?” I asked her bleakly.

“Telpë. Telpë saw the two of you somewhere and when your brother enquired as to your whereabouts, Telpë replied easily.”

“Telpë’s lack of dissimulation is most vexing.”

“Telpë has been very preoccupied recently. Today, he seemed most distracted.” 

She clutched my hand suddenly then. The next moment, we began laughing. 

“Thunder!” she exclaimed. “A thunderstorm!”

“Indeed.” I laughed at her childlike enthusiasm. 

“Prince Maglor!” Círdan came down the steps, his mien deeply worried. “Gil says that Celebrimbor has not returned from his forge yet.”

“He hates storms,” I replied. “He will remain in his forge until it passes.” 

My brother did not hate storms. But he certainly did not have a penchant of going out of his way to be caught stranded in one. He had left in search of me. A stab of woeful guilt flared through me.

Círdan made to ask another question. But I pre-empted him and said, “Carnilótë, my dear, why don’t you accompany Lord Círdan into the castle? I shall find my brother.”

Before they could reply, I turned back and rushed into the rain. Wondering if Artanis had made it to the shelter of their home and escaped Celeborn’s detection, I retraced my path. Another clap of thunder resounded and I bit my lips silently begging Russandol to be safe under a roof somewhere. His sense of self-preservation had never been well-honed. I suppressed a shudder and increased my pace. 

 

The storm continued and I was no close to finding my brother. Terrified, I began contemplating the idea of seeking aid from Círdan. 

“Macalaurë!” 

It was Telpë. 

“Círdan called you back to the castle.”

We rushed back and I found Russandol speaking earnestly with Círdan. I ran to him and stood gaping, numbed by the sight of the blood on his clothes. But it was not his blood, I knew immediately. I had seen his blood more than I could bear. I knew his blood by scent. This was not his blood. I sighed gratefully.

A peal of thunder broke the patter of rain again and a fine shudder coursed through his body. His fingers came clumsily to wipe away the plastered curls of his hair away from his face. Then he saw me and paused midway in a sentence. 

“I am-” he began softly.

I shook my head. He was here. He was unharmed. It was enough.

“What happened?” Telpë was asking Círdan. My nephew looked most distraught, I concernedly noted.

 

Círdan tugged Telpë away to his study and I was left with my shivering brother who was inspecting the ceiling with great interest.

“Come with me,” I told him. 

He exhaled and deigned to meet my gaze. It was my turn to hesitate. I had never been able to retain full possession of my intellect when gazing into the wistful grey depths of his eyes. 

“Lead the way,” he said quietly.

So I did.

We walked silently. It tore my heart to see his frame trembling in the cold. But I refrained from voicing my concern. It would not help matters, what with his pride and my inability to be of service.

We made for his chambers and as he entered, I wondered if I should retire to mine. We had been on bare speaking terms for a long time now. 

“Come.”

I entered his chambers. He was trying to light a fire in the hearth. But his numbed fingers refused to obey him and it was a damnably hard task to do with one hand anyway. 

“Let me.” I took the torch from him. “You should change your robes.” 

He left the torch in my keeping and meandered into the next chamber. I wanted to offer assistance. But how might that be interpreted? He emerged from the bedchamber attired in dry clothes. I admired his self-sufficiency in one breath and cursed it in the next breath. 

“Ah, the fire!” he exclaimed gratefully and with no further ado, he sank gracefully onto the carpet and sighed. 

I felt foolish and ridiculous as I stood there above him in my sodden robes. His hair began curling back to its usual state of unruliness and the fire lent it a rich, crimson sheen that I utterly was in thrall of. He looked up then and I considered myself entirely defeated. I had no antidote to his features in profile. How then was I to resist his eyes solemnly holding my gaze?

I smiled in surrender. His eyes twinkled and he patted the carpet invitingly. I dropped down beside him and scowled at the fireplace.

“Speak plainly, would you?” I entreated him wearily. 

“I shall endeavour to.” His voice held a surprising degree of hesitance. 

“Tell me then.”

“Telpë had a dalliance with a woman of the Sindar royalty.” He began cautiously, directing an appraising glance at my features. 

“Yes, Artanis told me. I had not known that you were aware of it.”

“I knew,” he said absently. “The woman’s father had spoken to me about it when she turned pregnant.”

“Who is she?” I was too used to Russandol keeping matters to himself that it did not provoke my ire at all.

“The daughter of Elured.”

I swirled to meet his stricken gaze. I saw the secret withheld in those eyes. He flinched and turned his regard to the fire once again, his jaw clenching as he awaited my censure.

“You knew that it was her and you did not dissuade Telpë!” I spat incredulously.

“I did not know until Elured told me!” he defended himself half-heartedly. “I had an inkling of it. But how was I to meddle in that affair without sure knowledge?”

I knew him. I might not have been privy to his secrets. But I knew him. It was not my reaction to this that he feared. It was the truth that had shined in his eyes before he had averted them.

“You knew that Elured was alive?” I asked in a low voice, trying to quell my rising wrath. “All these years, I was haunted by their disembodied voices calling out to me and you knew that he was alive!”

He did not reply. But a swallow graced his throat and the dam banking my ire broke.

“How dare you? How dare you withhold the tidings of their survival all these years? I thought them dead! I thought them eaten by vultures and jackals! I dreamt of them taken prisoners by orcs! I saw them dying of starvation! How dare you, Russandol? How dare you?” I gripped his shoulder in my fury and he stiffened. I closed my eyes and let my hand drop.

“Does it not suffice that I mourn my living brother with every breath of mine? Will you have me grieve more?”

“Macalaurë!” he exclaimed, horrified. “I did not-”

“You wretch!” I rose to my feet and began pacing. “What do you think I was when you were captured? Insane, Russandol, I was insane! If not for Artanis and Nolofinwë, I would have taken my life. What do you think I felt when you were fighting tooth and nail for your life after you were rescued? What do you think I felt when I saw your wounds? Damn it all, brother, have you ever wondered what it was that ravaged me when I married and took myself away from your presence? Each war, each parley, each living moment of mine – I mourn you for what you are to me, whether you will it or not.”

He dragged himself up and his eyes were wide as they met my gaze. I inhaled deeply and continued in a more reasonable tone, “I apologise. I have been sorely tried of late. I would rather that I left you to your rest now, brother.”

He did not reply. I suppressed my urge to shout with severe difficulty and made for the door. As I placed my hand on the knob, he cleared his throat. I turned back. 

“Elured. I found Elured when I searched for them after the carnage.” His eyes were dark and held only bitterness. Guilt stabbed me. But my righteous wrath suppressed it and I remained silent. “He had killed his brother. There was only food for one, you see.” He paused again. “I sent him to Círdan. What else-” 

His voice broke and he brought a hand to his throat reflexively. Before I knew it, I was across the chamber and embracing him as if my life depended on it. Perhaps it indeed did.

“I could not have told you that,” he murmured, cupping my cheek in a painfully delicate gesture that it seared my heart. “I could not add that to your grief. I could not sully your heart with the revelation that there were brothers who would kill their own when you are mourning me every day and yet not hating me for it.”

“What is shared is lesser than what is borne alone,” I whispered, letting my thumbs wander to the creases at the corners of his eyes. 

“I could not.” He shook his head stubbornly and I stiffened as he drew away. “I could not have done it.”

“What made you-” 

“I could not judge him, Macalaurë. I could not judge him when my hands are stained with our brothers’ blood. I delivered them to death. What difference is there between Elured and I?” He withdrew a few steps and said quietly, “I deserve not your forgiveness. I shall have none of your pity. So leave and let me be.”

Then I understood why he had been hiding behind that façade of politeness and diplomacy all those days. I had been a fool. I had been an utter fool. I had cursed myself for the matter of the tent pegs. I had cursed myself for venting my anger. I had cursed myself for marrying. But now I cursed myself all the more since I had been foolish enough to not see past his coldness.

“Russandol,” I began.

“Leave.” 

He turned away and presented a three-quarters profile silhouetted against the fire. I gazed upon those dearly loved features I had once mapped with abandon that night in Himring. He stood there, proud and stormed by regrets unsurpassed, yet offering no measure of surrender. As far as dooms went, I reflected wryly, not for the first time, mine was the most paradoxical one. 

“I asked you to leave,” spoke my doom querulously.

“You can rule me in the battlefields and in the courts,” I swore. “But the day I let you rule our life, brother of mine, that day will be when the sun shines in the void.”

He froze in astonishment and I did not allow him more time to reflect and wage a war of words. I was tired of words. I embraced him once again and he melted with a sigh, burying his face in my shoulder.

“On your head be it.”

He had to have the last word in any argument. I laughed at this exasperating, yet strangely endearing quirk of his. 

“You have been abstinent,” he continued hesitantly as we remained there.

“You are right,” I admitted. 

“Did you happen to notice that-” he paused and cleared his throat before continuing, “that I have been the model of chastity myself?”

“There are few things that I fail to notice about you, Russandol,” I said quietly. “But what does this lead to?”

“I admit that I am bewildered.” He seemed to face an uncharacteristic loss of words. “You have not - that is to say, you seem uninterested in furthering that aspect of our relations.” I tried to interrupt, but he waved me off and continued hurriedly, “I have noticed that you continue to be as affectionate as ever to Artanis and Carnilótë. It is the gender, then? You need not prevaricate to spare my feelings, Macalaurë. If it was not your anger, then it must be gender.”

“I am wounded that you would imply that I am a blackguard. We had furthered our relations, if you recall.”

“Yes,” he lifted his head and glared at me. “But that was different. It does not take emotional involvement to orchestrate a night’s intimacy.”

“What are you trying to say, my dearest Russandol?”

“Must you make it so deucedly difficult?” he demanded. “Oh, very well then!” He stepped back and continued, “If you are not overwhelmed by the fact that we are of the same gender, if you are not petrified by the fact that we are brothers, if you are not on a vow of chastity, if you are as driven to embrace recklessness as you have occasionally proved to be and if you are not against the principle of osculation, will you deign to grant me a kiss?”

“I believe that you have insulted me in a damnably convoluted way.” 

He scowled and I gently placed my hands on his shoulders before letting my lips seek his. His fingers trembled as they hovered over the nape of my neck and a heartfelt sigh escaped me. 

He had closed his eyes. His shoulders were shifting under my palms as his hand moved up and down my spine distractedly.

“Do you need me to phrase everything?” he demanded as we parted. “You are not romancing one of your princesses, Macalaurë. I am too old to be enamoured by your chivalry. We have been abstinent.”

“Savage copulations are for the beasts,” I said quietly. His grey eyes, now shot through with blackness of desire, flashed angrily at those words.

“What is for us then?” he enquired sardonically.

“Come with me, and I shall show you.”

His eyes narrowed, but he nodded and brought his hand to the ties of his robes. I had meant to move our activities into the bedchamber, but his impatience overruled me. I swatted his fingers away and applied myself to the task of disrobing him. The smell of rain was yet on him. It mingled with his own scent to yield an enticing freshness that clung to his skin. When the robes pooled at his feet, I saw that his body was flushed and heated. It had been a long abstinence indeed.

“Off with these,” he whispered. “I shall have to search for my knife else.”

“You are not allowed to manipulate me in the bedchamber,” I remarked wryly, turning my attention to my clothes.

“We are not in the bedchamber,” he offered. “Fast, or it shall be my knife, my dearest Macalaurë.”

I laughed and then he grinned, looking strangely young and innocent in the light of the fire with his tousled hair and dancing grey eyes.

“I am sorry,” he whispered, stepping forward and trailing his fingers down my throat with a rapt expression on his features, “but it has been a long time and I have been driven to distraction with all your solicitous attentions to Artanis and Carnilótë.”

“What must I say of your unfailing politeness to everyone from stable boys to Círdan?” I demanded, closing the distance between us and caressing the smooth, taut expanse of his chest. “There are days when I believe your sole purpose in life is to drive me insane.”

“I believe it is a worthy goal,” he teased. “Now, if you would proceed to demonstrate your skills, I shall be grateful indeed.”

I laughed and complied, gently pulling us down to the carpet and hovering over his prone form on my hands and knees. He brought his hand to caress my jaw and nodded assent to my unspoken question. I brought my fingers to his loins and he gave a half-stifled cry of pleasure before bringing his hand to his mouth to obscure his exclamations. I bit down on my lips to remain silent as I continued my attentions and then a sigh of contentment escaped me as he arched and went rigid. 

The languid sparkle that shone in his eyes in the aftermath was something I would never forget. He made to speak, but offered a lazy smile and brought his hand to my cheek instead. I shifted so that I could kiss his palm before sliding in beside him and throwing my hands about his form. I considered it the purest stroke of fortune that the move brought my lips to his jaw.

“You are still against ungentle means of relaxation?” he enquired after a while, running his hand through my hair. 

“Decidedly.” 

I held my ground. I had no idea of what it involved, for one. The whole concept sounded extremely painful from what I had heard in the soldiers’ camps. Of course, my father had indulged in it and he had no aversion to it. It seemed something then that I would not mind partaking of, for Father and I had the same core. But what I craved was not pleasure. I craved peace. Peace I had now, in this embrace. It sufficed and I would be a fool to tempt fate.

Russandol shifted to face me and I lost myself to the depths of those eyes. His hand came to my thigh and fingers gently circled my skin. I sighed and drew his lips for a kiss. He indulged me and lazily fought my tongue while mapping the terrain of my loins with exquisite slowness that left me at the brink without consummation. 

My breathing hitched and I dug my fingers into his shoulders in desperation. His fingers varied the pace of their movement and I surrendered into the cataclysm of release. Convulsions wracked my body and I tried to still the shaking. But he hushed me and dragged me to him.

And he spoke those words.

“I have you, Macalaurë. I have you.”

Noldolantë was not my lament for the fall of the Noldor. It was my heart’s threne for him.


End file.
